No Dream, This
by Chamaelirium
Summary: Red picks up the pieces after Lizzie's death. Set post 3-18. Sorry for the angst.
1. Chapter 1

He was having the nightmare again.

Strange, because he hadn't remembered falling asleep this time.

It started the way it always did - the crowded street, the masses of people milling about, the muted roar of humanity filling his ears. Then time seemed to slow itself, the sounds fading till they sounded merely like a distant summer storm. The faces in the crowd blurring and separating, until only one stood before him, her face as clear as if it had only been yesterday he had seen her last, not 385 days before.

 _Lizzie_.

The nightmare had come less often since Tom, a five month old Agnes propped on his hip, bag full of onesies and nappies and formula, had come to his door. A desperate and resigned look on his face, he had stumbled over his excuses, saying his life had taken an unexpected turn and it wasn't safe for him to have her any more. Red said very little at the time, taking Lizzie's little girl in his arms, nodding solemnly when Tom begged him to keep in touch, to let him know how his baby girl was doing. It was, Red felt, perhaps the only decent act that Tom had committed since Red had first known him. He even refrained from slamming the door in his face, instead stood jiggling a happily gurgling Agnes on his arm and watched Tom walk away into the darkness. Since then he had obligingly sent the occasional photograph and letter of progress to the post office box address Tom had left with him. No communication came back through it, so Red could only assume he was actually receiving them.

Baby Agnes had become the one bright thing in his life. He allowed Kate and Dembe to assist him only because he could see the pleasure they too gained from the presence of this sunny little child. She seemed to have inherited her blue eyes and gorgeous smile from Lizzie, and while it caused his heart to lurch in his chest every time she beamed at him, he welcomed the pain, because it reminded him of the reason he was still alive. Kate showed a softer side that few but Red had seen before, and Dembe took great delight in carrying her around in the crook of one arm. Agnes herself seemed to enjoy this elevated position, and as she began to speak, her demands for "Dem-Dem" were only exceeded by those for "Way."

They were all present when she took her first steps at the age of eleven months, stumbling from Kate's hands straight into Red's outstretched ones. Few who knew the Concierge of Crime by his deadly reputation would have recognised this man as he crowed her name, wet eyed, and lifted her high into the air In celebration. Agnes for her part seemed as proud of her accomplishment as they all were, and squealed delightedly, wiggling her little legs in the air to be set down again.

Agnes was doing much to fill the empty space that filled Red's heart. He had floated through the first months after Lizzie's death, the revenge running cold in his blood all that kept him from collapse. Even once he had rooted out and destroyed those who were responsible, he felt no closure, no relief from the guilt that rode him day and night. He, who had always relished the finer things in life, lost interest in almost everything save cigars and scotch. Kate and Dembe had worked together to at least make sure he ate enough to stay alive, although he became shockingly thin and sallow despite their best efforts.

Since Agnes had come into his life, he had been forced to confront his own self-destruction, and take steps to reverse it. He had submitted to the meals that Kate prepared for them both, eating reluctantly. By the time his appetite began to return and with it, his own interest in cooking, Agnes was showing her own interest in food. Not many babies could claim creamy vichyssoise as their first food, but Red spooned it into her mouth with a steady hand that had not forgotten it's past skill. He smiled at the sight of the happy infant with soup running down her chin, and kissed her messy cheek, not caring when her hands reached for his shirt and stained his collar.

The nightmares had lessened, but they had not disappeared entirely. There were nights when he still woke, sweat pouring from his body, chest heaving with silent sobs, struggling not to make a noise lest he wake the baby sleeping peacefully in her bed on the other side of the room. Sometimes he would drag himself from his tangled blankets and walk quietly to her cot, struggling to slow his breathing. Sinking to his knees beside it, he would watch the rise and fall of her chest in the nightlight, allowing it to calm him. He had failed Lizzie, but he would not fail her daughter.

This time the nightmare felt different.

It had started, as before, with the crowd of people, the crush of humanity flowing around him like a river. Then her face in the crowd, as the movement around him seemed suddenly as slow as molasses. He waited for the inevitable shift, for the moment when the dream would switch to Lizzie dying in front of him, as he watched helplessly.

But it never came.

She was still there, hair loose as it had been when she first walked down the stairs at the black site and into his life again. His heart, which he felt had stopped beating the moment her face appeared, started again with a lurch and the air was driven from his lungs. So it had come to this. He was now imagining her in his waking hours as well. Many times he had thought he saw her walking through the city - dark hair, the curve of a cheek, blue eyes - but always it had been a passing fancy, a stranger with one small resemblance, one feature similar to the woman he had so adored.

This apparition caught and held his eyes, however, and didn't look at him curiously or with disgust when he stared too long. Small lines appeared around the eyes as the face smiled, a little hesitantly at first, and oh God help him, Red had finally lost his mind. He took a step backwards as the apparition stepped forwards, reaching a hand towards him and then he spun on his heel, the voice of the siren following him as he stumbled, ran.

He had only just made it around the corner and onto the grass of the small city park when his stomach heaved. Falling to his knees, he felt his stomach eject violently the food he had eaten that day. When he could pass no more, he sat back on his heels, face clammy and cold with sweat, ignoring the horrified murmurs of the people who were walking past him. One compassionate woman stopped and asked if he was alright, but he waved her away, his other hand pressed over his mouth, unable to speak past his grief that now came pouring out anew, like an old scar had been split open.

His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, dialling for Dembe with unsteady fingers. His friend promised to be there as soon as he could and Red sat until then on the grass, head bent into his hands, until Dembe came and helped him stand, took him to the car that was waiting on the curb.

Neither of them saw the woman watching from a short distance, eyes now red and swollen with the tears that had been running silently down her face, as she watched the man she loved falling into pieces before her.


	2. Chapter 2

The ache of her breasts, sore and full of milk and no baby to give her relief, and the agony of the scar that ran long and low along her abdomen, were only eclipsed by the hollow sick feeling in the centre of her heart once she had awoken in Mr Kaplan's safe house, one that not even Reddington was aware existed. She had feared the worst, felt her soft, deflated abdomen gingerly, and then searched the room frantically for her baby. She had not even been aware of sobbing out loud until Mr Kaplan, her usually grim face looking almost kindly and sorrowful, had entered the room and taken both her hands.

Once she had calmed Lizzie with assurances that little Agnes was fine, healthy, and with Tom (Mr Kaplan declined to say "safe" because that was certainly not guaranteed in those circumstances), Liz was able to slow her breathing and try to absorb what Kate was telling her next. That she and Nic had, at the eleventh hour, made a decision that would affect every aspect of Liz's life from now on, that had changed everything and turned every plan Liz had made for the future, onto its head. As Liz struggled with feelings of anger and betrayal, she also knew, deep down, that those who had hunted her would continue to do so until the bitter end. It was truly the only way to keep her, and her baby, safe.

Liz remembered little of the events following Agnes' hurried and urgent birth. She remembered looking into her daughters face, and the joy that had flooded her inner being at the sight of those little dark blue eyes looking so trustingly into her own. She recalled the medics and Nic talking urgently, she remembered feeling lightheaded, and most of all she remembered a feeling that she had something to tell somebody, something so important that she had fought against the rising tide of blackness for as long as she could. She didn't dare ask Kate the details of what happened then - it was nothing but a void, in her mind. When she learned that Reddington was not aware of Kate's plan, she laid herself back on the bed, hot, slow tears of grief leaking from her closed eyes. She could not begin to comprehend what her loss must be doing to him, knowing also that there was no way Tom would allow Red anywhere near Agnes now.

He must be so alone.

Not even Dembe was aware of Lizzie's whereabouts, the last he saw of her was in the back of the ambulance, apparently lifeless, a destroyed Red holding her hand to his cheek.

In the weeks of slow healing that followed, Liz allowed herself to be tended to by first Mr Kaplan herself, and then by a trusted associate of her own choosing. The woman, who Lizzie learned was named Precious, was sweet and comforting, and although she didn't say much, what she said was worth hearing, and Liz felt safe and reassured under her warm, brown eyes as she smiled kindly, going about her business of checking Liz's stitches, helping her massage her aching breasts to get relief from the hard lumps that threatened to form because her body was expecting to feed an infant. She even held Lizzie when she wept, her generous arms going around her without hesitation the first time she had walked in to find Liz hunched into a ball, trying to keep the sobs from breaking out. Lizzie's tears ran down Precious' brown skin a soaked her uniform many times in those first months. She grieved for her baby most of all, for the little one she was not able to hold in her arms, to watch her grow and smile, to feel her heart beating against her own chest as they slept in each other's arms.

Lizzie began to chafe at the lack of scenery in the little house behind its high wall - the garden was sweet, and Lizzie spent many hours as the spring deepened into summer, sitting or laying on a wooden recliner. She longed for the outside world again, even as she knew that being seen would undo the whole point of her being hidden away. Kate fed her as much news as she dared, about Reddington and the task force as they hunted down those who had attempted to take her away. She felt a grim satisfaction as justice was meted out to those who she felt so richly deserved it - those who had taken her child, husband to be, and Red out of her life.

She struggled to put into words the feelings that arose when she thought about Raymond. She had been so sure that marrying Tom was the right path, that having a father and husband in her life to help take care of and raise her child was the best thing to do. She had clung to the idea so stubbornly, despite everything that Tom had done, despite the doubts that Red had voiced out loud to her. She had fought with her emotions, attempted to push those aside that whispered to her in quiet moments that perhaps, perhaps she was seeking this with the wrong man. That just maybe, the one who could keep her safest, the one whose longing for her was such that he would do almost anything to protect her and her child, was not the man she had promised to marry.

Then thoughts of Raymond came unbidden, the warmth of his hand as he laced his fingers in hers, the tenderness of his embrace as he comforted her, sweet tender kisses on her hair, the way his eyes looked into hers with such intensity at times that she couldn't look away, feeling bound by his gaze. During her recovery, she was left with far too much time on her hands, and nothing to distract her from the thoughts that now demanded examination. He was woven so deeply into her life, and she had come to rely so much on him, that her mind had at first viewed it as a cage, as though she was trapped. Now, in retrospect, she was forced to acknowledge the truth of their relationship - far from forcing himself into her life, he had many times offered to remove himself from it. She was the one who had been unable to let go.

During their time on the run from the police and FBI the two had grown closer, learning more about each other's thoughts, feelings, habits, likes and dislikes. Liz remembered standing with Raymond on the deck of the ship, feeling the night air whip through her hair and seeing the stars spread out thickly on the velvet black sky. They had not been touching, but she could feel the warmth radiating from him as though they were pressed together. His words had filled her with a kind of wonder, and as she turned to stare at him, she was suddenly possessed with the desire to be that for him, to be his way home, his way to redemption, as much as she was able.

It had felt like a beautiful but vulnerable sapling growing between them, with the possibility of one day growing into a powerful tree that could withstand any storm. But before this could happen, she had learned of her unexpected pregnancy. She, who had never wished to birth her own biological child, was suddenly faced with a reality that was like a bucket of ice water tipped over her. Would he reject her when he discovered it? The precious sapling was then flattened in the storm of emotion that followed, and Lizzie turned as she had done so many times to familiarity, to the one thing she thought she already knew - Tom. Confused and panicked, she had lashed out at Red like a wounded animal, taking out her fears and vulnerabilities on him. She was even prepared to marry Tom again to provide what part of her thought she needed - consistency.

When Red had come into the chapel to warn her about Solomon, time had slowed to a surreal, dreamlike crawl. Had he come for her? Had he come to stop the wedding from happening, to stop her making this mistake? In the hours that had followed, throughout the chase and trauma of the emergency cesarean, she wondered how her child and herself would survive. And now she was here - separated from her baby due to necessity, to give them both a chance at life. Until it was certain that those who sought her life were destroyed, she had to stay absolutely secluded.

When, five months after she was first brought to the safe house, Kate walked thigh the door with the joyous news that Tom had brought baby Agnes to Red for safekeeping, Liz was so overcome with emotion that she had to sit, one trembling hand pressed to her mouth. Precious, whose visits were now mostly social rather than in her capacity as a nurse, had laughed along with her in joy when Liz was able to finally able to see a picture of her sweet babe. Kate had taken the photo in order to keep Tom up to date with Agnes' progress, or so she had told Red. He was holding her in the crook of his arm, smiling and pointing to the camera, while Agnes held herself steady with her little fist wrapped around his tie, Lizzie had at first been shocked at the pale, gaunt face that looked back at her, despite the joyful smile that shone out from it. Kate was quick to reassure her that thanks to Agnes' arrival and the happiness and purpose she brought him, he was finally allowing herself and Dembe to take care of him properly.

Liz spent a few white nights sitting up in bed, eaten inside with guilt that she had caused this decline. As Kate continued to keep her up to date on how things were developing, she was relieved to notice that the colour and health was returning to his face as he lived and played with her daughter so lovingly. It was bittersweet. A tableau she had no part in, yet desperately wanted to belong to.

When, 8 months after her supposed death, Kate had declared that the last of the rot had been uprooted, and the organisation responsible for organising Liz's kidnapping was completely dismantled, she felt a great excitement. Soon, surely, she would be able to get out of this place, it's four walls now grown stale with repetition and boredom. There were only so many books to read, so many movies to watch, so many walks in the sun or so much exercise in the small gym room. She knew it was a bad idea but she began to wait until Kate had left for a while to visit Raymond, and sneak out of the yard and walk down the street. She was just another face in the crowd, nobody looked at her curiously, nobody called her name. Her hair had grown past her shoulders again, and she had taken to wearing skirts, long and flowing, as little like her FBI approved work clothes as possible.

It was on one of these days, a spring day, not long after Agnes had turned one and Lizzie had laughed at the photo that showed Red, Dembe, and Agnes all on a picnic rug, Agnes standing between the two men, face smeared in cream and crumbs of cake, one hand on either of their shoulders, smearing yet more cream on their clothes, a huge and happy grin on her sweet face, showing six little white teeth. On this particular day Liz had felt her restrictions more keenly than usual, had even gone so far as to accuse Mr Kaplan of keeping her prisoner there, a princess in a tower. Kate had not responded to those accusations, just raised one eyebrow and patted her hand, before heading for the door and Reds home. Liz had waited until she was certain of being alone, and had followed her outside, turning sharply to the right and making her way down the block to the nearest bus stop.

She wandered happily through the shops once she had reached downtown, knowing she couldn't buy anything but content to just browse. She stepped out of the door of a clothes store and was walking down the street, her thoughts far away, when she saw a familiar shape ahead of her. The outline of a suited, fedora wearing man always made her heart stumble a little, even though it always turned out to be someone who looked completely different from Red. This time, as the person walked towards her, the silhouette grew more and more familiar the closer they got. Lizzie stopped suddenly, her feet frozen to the pavement, as she saw the beloved face of Red before her, his eyes not looking towards her, but focused somewhere else in the crowd. She knew the moment he saw her, however, as he also stopped dead in his tracks, his face growing pale. Liz couldn't help herself - she smiled, a brilliant, beaming smile, with tears threatening, and spoke his name.

She didn't expect him to stumble backwards, fear and horror written on his face, or to see him then turn and practically run, as though pursued by some spectre. She followed him as quickly as she could, but stopped short when she saw him stumble onto the grass of the park and vomit, retching until it seemed he could hardly breathe. Then she realised what the shock of seeing her face had done to him, and stayed where she was, out of his line of sight, wanting desperately to go to him and comfort him, wipe his brow, put her arm around him, help him slow his panicked breathing. She could only watch from a distance, helplessly, tears pouring down her cheeks, until Dembe arrived and helped his friend into their great, black car, driving away.

Lizzie turned and ran blindly for home, wishing she had not come out, wondering how many months of healing she had undone by her accidental meeting. She curled up on her bed in a fetal position, and that was how Kate found her later that evening, when she arrived home from trying to comfort a distraught Reddington.


End file.
